She might have added that his employers had considered themselves unfortunate in their engagement of her son; but, even if she had known it, she would have considered that they were prejudiced against him, and that they were in fault entirely.

"I will do what I can for him," continued Gilbert; "but I am very sure he won't get as much as ten dollars a week."

"I can earn as much as the boot-black, I should hope," said Roswell.

"He didn't earn ten dollars a week."

"He got it."

"That's a very different thing."

"Well, if I get it, I don't care if I don't earn it."

"That's true enough," said Gilbert, who did not in his heart set a very high estimate upon the services of his young cousin, and who, had the business been his own, would certainly not have engaged him at any price.

Roswell thought it best not to say any more, having on some previous occasions been greeted with remarks from his cousin which could not by any means be regarded as complimentary.

"Do you think I had better come in at ten o'clock, Cousin James?" inquired Roswell, as breakfast was over, and Gilbert prepared to go to the counting-room.

"Well, perhaps you may come a little earlier, say about half-past nine," said the book-keeper.

"All right," said Roswell.

Being rather sanguine, he made up his mind that he was going to have the place, and felt it difficult to keep his good fortune secret. Now, in the next house there lived a boy named Edward McLean, who was in a broker's office in Wall Street, at a salary of six dollars a week. Now, though Edward had never boasted of his good fortune, it used to disturb Roswell to think that his place and salary were so much superior to his own. He felt that it was much more respectable to be in a broker's office, independent of the salary, than to run around the city with heavy bundles. But if he could enter such an establishment as Rockwell & Cooper's, at a salary of ten dollars, he felt that he could look down with conscious superiority upon Edward McLean, with his six dollars a week.

He went over to his neighbor's, and found Edward just starting for Wall Street.

"How are you, Roswell?" said Edward.

"Pretty well. Are you going down to the office?"

"Yes."

"You've got a pretty good place,—haven't you?"

"Yes, I like it."

"How much do you get?"

"Six dollars a week."

"That's very fair," said Roswell, patronizingly.

"How do you like your place?" asked Edward. "I believe you're in a dry-goods store on Sixth Avenue."

"Oh, no," said Roswell.

"You were?"

"Yes, I went in temporarily to oblige them," said Roswell, loftily; "but, of course, I wouldn't engage to remain any length of time in such a place, however large the inducements they might offer."

Considering Roswell's tone, it would hardly have been supposed that the large inducements were four dollars a week, and that, even at that compensation, his services were not desired.

"Then it wasn't a good place?" said Edward.

"Well enough for such as liked it," said Roswell. "I have no complaint of Hall & Turner. I told them that it was not dissatisfaction with them that led me to leave the place, but I preferred a different kind of business."

"Have you got another place?"

"I have an offer under consideration," said Roswell, consequentially; "one of the most solid firms in the city. They offer me ten dollars a week."

"Ten dollars a week!" repeated Edward, somewhat staggered by the statement. "That's big pay."

"Yes," said Roswell; "but I think I ought to get as much as that."

"Why, I thought myself lucky to get six dollars," said Edward.

"Yes, that's very fair," said Roswell, condescendingly. "In fact, I've worked at that figure myself; but, of course, one expects more as he grows older."

"I suppose you'll accept your offer," said Edward.

"I haven't quite made up my mind," said Roswell, carelessly. "I think I shall."

"You'd better. Such places don't grow on every bush."

Though Edward did not more than half believe Roswell's statement, he kept his disbelief to himself, feeling that it was a matter of indifference to him whether Roswell received a large or small salary.

"I must be going down to the office," he said. "Good-morning."

"Good-morning," said Roswell, and he re-entered the house, feeling that he had impressed Edward with a conviction of his superiority, and the value set upon his services by the business men of New York. He went upstairs, and picked out a flashy necktie from his drawer, tied it carefully before the glass, and about nine set out for Rockwell & Cooper's warehouse.

It is necessary for us to precede him.

Gilbert reached the counting-room at the usual time. His thoughts on the way thither were pleasant.

"I shan't be subjected to that young rascal's impertinence," he considered. "That's one satisfaction."

His astonishment, nay, dismay, may be imagined, therefore, when, on entering the counting-room, the first object his eyes rested on was the figure of Dick.

"Good-morning, Mr. Gilbert," said our hero, pleasantly.

"How came you here?" he demanded.

"I walked," said Dick. "I don't often ride. I think walkin's good for the constitution."

"You know what I mean, well enough. How did you get out of prison?"

"I haven't been there."

"You were arrested for picking a man's pocket yesterday afternoon," said Gilbert.

"Excuse me, Mr. Gilbert, you're slightly mistaken there. I was arrested on suspicion of picking a man's pocket."

"The same thing."

"Not quite, as it has been proved that I was innocent, and the wallet was taken by another boy."

"Have you been tried?"

"Yes, and acquitted."

Gilbert looked and felt disappointed. He could not conceive how Dick could have escaped when the plot to entrap him had been so artfully contrived.

"Well, young man," he said, "I'll give you a piece of advice, and if you're wise you'll follow it."

"That's kind in you," said Dick.

"I pass over your impertinence this time, and will advise you as a friend to resign your situation before Mr. Rockwell comes."

"Why should I?"

"It'll save your being discharged."

"Do you think he'll discharge me?"

"I know he will. He won't have any one in his employ who has been arrested for picking pockets."

"Not even if he didn't do it?"

"Not even if he was lucky enough to get off," said Gilbert.

"You think I'd better give up my place?"

"That'll be the best course for you to pursue."

"But how'll I get another place?"

"I'll do what I can to help you to another place if you leave at once."

"I think I'll wait and see Mr. Rockwell first."

"I'll make all the necessary explanations to Mr. Rockwell," said the book-keeper.

"I think I'd rather see him myself, if it doesn't make any difference to you."

"You're acting like a fool. You'll only be kicked out of the store. If you don't follow my advice, I shan't interest myself in getting you another place."

"Do you think I took the wallet, Mr. Gilbert?" asked Dick.

"Of course I do."

"Then how could you recommend me to another place?"

"Because I think this may prove a lesson to you. You've been lucky enough to escape this time, but you can't expect it always."

"I'm much obliged to you for your favorable opinion; but I don't think I shall resign at once."

At this moment Mr. Rockwell entered the warehouse. He had been informed of Dick's misfortune by Mr. Murdock, who had had occasion to call at his house on his way from the trial.

"How's this, Richard?" he said, advancing, with a frank smile. "I hear you got into strange quarters last night."

"Yes," said Dick; "but I didn't like it well enough to stay long."

"Why didn't you send for me?"

"Thank you, sir, I didn't like to trouble you. Mr. Murdock was very kind."

"Have they got the real thief?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Well, 'all's well that ends well.' You can afford to laugh at it now."

Mr. Gilbert listened to this colloquy with very little satisfaction.

It seemed to show such a good understanding between Dick and his employer that he perceived that it would be a very difficult thing to supersede him.

"Mr. Rockwell seems to be infatuated with that boy," he muttered to himself.

"I think I won't resign just yet," said Dick, in a low voice, to the book-keeper.

"You'll be found out some day," said Gilbert, snappishly. "Go to the post-office, and mind you don't stop to play on the way."

Dick started on his errand, and, in passing out into the street, encountered Roswell Crawford, who, attired with extra care, had just come down the street from Broadway. On seeing Dick, he started as if he had seen a ghost.

"Good-morning, Roswell," said Dick, pleasantly.

"Good-morning," said Roswell, stiffly.

"Your cousin is in the counting-room. I am in a hurry, and must leave you."

"I thought he was on his way to the Island by this time," thought Roswell, perplexed. "What can it mean?"

It occurred to him all at once that Dick might just have been discharged, and this thought cheered him up considerably. He entered the counting-room with a jaunty step.

"Good-morning, Cousin James," he said.

Gilbert turned round, and said, in a surly tone, "You may as well take yourself off. There's no chance for you here."

"Hasn't the boot-black been discharged?"

"No; and isn't going to be."

"How is that?" asked Roswell, looking very much disappointed.

"I can't stop to tell you now. You'd better go now, and I'll tell you this evening."

"Just my luck!" said Roswell to himself, considerably crest-fallen. "I wish I hadn't said a word to Edward McLean about the place."



CHAPTER XIX.

ANOTHER ARREST.

Micky Maguire, as the reader will remember, was by no means satisfied with the compensation he received from Gilbert for his share in the plot which came so near proving disastrous to our friend Dick.

He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch.

But, in spite of his disappointment, he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon Dick, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of Dick's conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial; but he had unpleasant associations connected with the court-room at the Tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity.

As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpy Jim, came up.

"Mornin', Jim," said Micky. "What luck?"

"None at all," said Jim. "I haven't had a shine yet, and I'm precious hungry."

"Come and take breakfast with me," said Micky, in an unusual fit of generosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated than to treat.

"Have you got stamps enough?"

"Look at this," and Micky displayed the bill which he had received from Gilbert.

"You're in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by shines?"

"Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you're hungry."

Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheap restaurant on Nassau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory.

"I've got some news," said Micky, after he had drained his cup of coffee. "You haven't forgot Ragged Dick, have ye?"

"He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue."

"Well, he's set up for something else now."

"What's that?"

"A pick-pocket."

"What?" asked Jim, amazed.

"He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station."

"That's where he gets his good clo'es from?" suggested Jim.

"Most likely. I expect he's on his way to the Island by this time."

"Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now."

"Wonder what Tom Wilkins'll say? He's a great friend of Dick's."

"He's a sneak," said Micky.

"That's so. I wanted to borrer a shillin' of him last week, and he wouldn't lend it to me."

This Tom Wilkins was a boot-black like the two who were expressing so unfavorable an opinion of his character. He had a mother and two sisters partially dependent upon him for support, and faithfully carried home all his earnings. This accounts for his being unwilling to lend Limpy Jim, who had no one to look out for but himself, and never considered it necessary to repay borrowed money. Tom had reason to feel friendly to Dick, for on several occasions, one of which is mentioned in the first volume of this series, Dick had given him help in time of need. He was always ready to defend Dick, when reviled by Micky and his followers, and had once or twice been attacked in consequence. Limpy Jim was right in supposing that nothing would disturb Tom more than to hear that his friend had got into trouble.

Micky, who was in a generous mood, bought a couple of cheap cigars, of which he presented one to his satellite. These were lighted, and both boys, feeling more comfortable for the hearty meal of which they had partaken, swaggered out into the street.

They re-entered the park, and began to look out for patrons.

"There's Tom Wilkins now," said Limpy Jim.

Tom was busily engaged in imparting a scientific shine to the boots of an old gentleman who was sitting on one of the wooden seats to be found in the neighborhood of the City Hall.

When he had completed his task, and risen from his knees, Limpy Jim advanced towards him, and said, with a sneer, "I've heard fine news about your friend Dick."

"What's that?" asked Tom.

"He's got nabbed by a 'copp.'"

"I don't believe it," said Tom, incredulously.

"Isn't it so, Micky?" said Jim, appealing to his friend.

"Yes, it's true. I seed him hauled off for pickin' an old fellow's pocket in Chatham Street."

"I don't believe it," repeated Tom; but he began to feel a little uneasy. "I saw him and spoke to him yesterday mornin'."

"What if you did? It didn't happen till afternoon."

"Dick wouldn't steal," said Tom, stoutly.

"He'll find it mighty hard work provin' that he didn't," said Micky. "You won't see him for the next three months."

"Why won't I?"

"Because he'll be at the Island. Maybe you'll go there yourself."

"If I do, it'll be for the first time," retorted Tom; "and that's more than either of you can say."

As this happened to be true, it was of course regarded as offensive.

"Shut up, Tom Wilkins!" said Micky, "if you don't want a lickin'."

"None of your impudence!" said Limpy Jim, emboldened by the presence and support of Micky, who was taller and stronger than Tom.

"I've only told the truth," said Tom, "and you can't deny it."

"Take that for your impudence!" said Micky, drawing off, and hitting Tom a staggering blow on the side of the head.

Limpy Jim was about to assist Micky, when there was a very unlooked-for interruption. Micky Maguire was seized by the collar, and, turning indignantly, found himself in the grip of a policeman.

"So you are fighting, are you, my fine fellow?" demanded the guardian of the public peace.

"He insulted me," said Micky, doggedly, not attempting resistance, which he knew would be ineffectual. "Didn't he, Jim?"

But Jim had already disappeared. He had a prejudice, easily accounted for, against the metropolitan police, and had as little communication with them as possible.

"I don't know anything about that," said the policeman. "All I know is that you're wanted."

"Just for hittin' him? I didn't hurt him any."

"He didn't hurt me much," said Tom, generously, not desiring to see Micky get into trouble on his account.

"He says I didn't hurt him," urged Micky. "Can't you let me go?"

"That isn't what I want you for," said the policeman.

Micky was astonished. The real cause of his arrest never once occurred to him, and he could not understand why he was "wanted."

"What is it, then?" he asked in some surprise. "What 'ave I been doin'?"

"Perhaps you don't remember relieving an old gentleman of his pocket-book yesterday in Chatham Street."

"'Twasn't me."

"Who was it then?"

"Ragged Dick,—the feller that was took at the time. I seed him pick the man's pocket."

"It seems that you remember something about it."

"But it was Dick that did it. If he says I did it, he lies."

"I've nothing to do with that. You must tell your story to the judge."

"Has he let Dick go?"

"Yes."

Micky received this intelligence with dismay. Somehow it had got out that he was the real thief, and he began to think that his chance of getting off was small. Just then, while in custody of the policeman, he saw advancing towards him the man who had inveigled him into the plot,—Gilbert, the book-keeper. His anger against Gilbert overcame his prudence, and he said, "Well, if I did take the pocket-book, I was paid for doin' it, and that was the man that hired me."

With some surprise, the policeman listened to this story.

"If you don't believe me, just wait till I speak to him."

"Mr. Gilbert!" called Micky.

Gilbert, who had not till now noticed his confederate, looked up, and, rapidly understanding what had happened, determined upon his course.

"Who speaks to me?" he said, quietly.

"You've got me into trouble, Mr. Gilbert," said Micky, "and I want you to get me out of it."

"What does he mean?" asked Gilbert, coolly, addressing the policeman.

"You hired me to steal a man's pocket-book, and I'm took up for it," said Micky. "I want you to help me, or I'll be sent to the Island."

"The boy must be crazy," said Gilbert, shrugging his shoulders.

"You give me a dollar to do it," said Micky, very much incensed at the desertion of his confederate.

"Do you know the boy?" asked the policeman respectfully, for he put no faith in Micky's statement.

"He blacked my boots once," said Gilbert. "That's all I know about him. What is he arrested for?"

"For picking pockets. There was another boy arrested on suspicion, but it appeared on trial that he was innocent, and that this boy really took the wallet."

"He looks like a young scamp," said Gilbert, coolly. "I'm much obliged to him for introducing my name into the matter. I hope he'll get his desserts."

This was too much for Micky's patience. He assailed Gilbert with such a shower of oaths that the policeman tightened his grip, and shook him vigorously. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders, and walked off with apparent unconcern.

"Wait till I get free," said Micky, furiously. "I'll fix him."

In regard to Micky, I have only to say further at this time, that he was at once conveyed to the Tombs, summarily tried and convicted, and spent the same night on Blackwell's Island, where we leave him for three months.



CHAPTER XX.

BEFORE THE PARTY.

"You'll be able to attend Ida Greyson's party after all, Dick," said Fosdick, on Tuesday evening.

"Yes," said Dick, "I was afraid that I should be wanted to grace the fashionable circles at Blackwell's Island; but as my particular friend Micky Maguire has kindly offered to go in my place, I shall be able to keep my other engagement."

"Micky's a bad fellow."

"I'm afraid he is," said Dick; "but he's never had a fair chance. His father was a drunkard, and used to beat him and his mother, till Micky ran away from home, and set up for himself. He's never had any good example set him."

"You speak kindly of Micky, considering he has always been your enemy."

"I haven't any ill will against Micky," said Dick, generously. "If I ever can do him a good turn I will. I've been luckier than he and most of my old companions, I'm going to do all I can to help them along. There's good in them if you can only bring it out."

Dick spoke earnestly, in a very different tone from his usual one. He had a certain philosophy of his own, and had always taken the world easily, however it treated him; but he had a warm and sympathizing heart for the sufferings of others, and he felt that he was in a position to befriend his old associates, and encourage them to higher aims and a better mode of life.

"You're a good fellow, Dick," said Fosdick. "It isn't everybody that is so charitable to the faults of others."

"I know one," said Dick, smiling.

"You mean me; but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I can't say I feel very well disposed towards Micky Maguire."

"Maybe Micky'll reform and turn out well after all."

"It would be a wonderful change."

"Haven't both of us changed wonderfully in the last eighteen months?"

"You were always a good fellow, even when you were Ragged Dick."

"You say that because you are my friend, Fosdick."

"I say it because it's true, Dick. You were always ready to take the side of the weak against the strong, and share your money with those who were out of luck. I had a hard time till I fell in with you."

"Thank you," said Dick; "if I ever want a first-rate recommendation I'll come to you. What a lot of friends I've got! Mr. Gilbert offered to get me another place if I'd only resign my situation at Rockwell & Cooper's."

"He's a very disinterested friend," said Fosdick, laughing. "Do you think of accepting his offer?"

"I'm afraid I might not be suited with the place he'd get me," said Dick. "He thinks I'm best fitted to adorn the office of a boot-black. Maybe he'd appoint me his private boot-black; but I'm afraid I shouldn't be able to retire on a fortune till I was two or three hundred, if I accepted the situation."

"What shall we wear to the party, Dick?"

"We've got good suits of clothes. We can carry them to a tailor's and have them pressed, and they will look well enough. I saw a splendid necktie to-day at a store on Broadway. I'm going to buy it."

"You have a weakness for neckties, Dick."

"You see, Fosdick, if you have a striking necktie, people will look at that, and they won't criticise your face."

"There may be something in that, Dick. I feel a little nervous though. It is the first fashionable party I ever attended."

"Well," said Dick, "I haven't attended many. When I was a boot-black I found it interfered with my business, and so I always declined all the fashionable invitations I got."

"You'd have made a sensation," said Fosdick, "if you had appeared in the costume you then wore."

"That's what I was afraid of. I don't want to make a sensation. I'm too modest."

In fact both the boys, though they were flattered by Ida's invitation, looked forward rather nervously to the evening of the party. For the first time they were to meet and mingle on terms of equality with a large number of young people who had been brought up very differently from themselves. Dick could not help remembering how short a time had elapsed since, with his little wooden box strapped to his back, he used to call out, "Black your boots?" in the city park. Perhaps some of his old customers might be present. Still he knew that he had improved greatly, and that his appearance had changed for the better. It was hardly likely that any one seeing him in Mr. Greyson's drawing-room, would identify him as the Ragged Dick of other days. Then there was another ground for confidence. Ida liked him, and he had a sincere liking for the little girl for whom he had a feeling such as a brother has for a cherished younger sister. So Dick dressed himself for the party, feeling that he should "get through it somehow."

I need not say, of course, that his boots shone with a lustre not to be surpassed even by the professional expert of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was very evident that Dick had not forgotten the business by which he once gained his livelihood.

When Dick had arranged his necktie to suit him, which I am bound to confess took at least quarter of an hour, had carefully brushed his hair, and dusted his clothes, he certainly looked remarkably well. Dick was not vain, but he was anxious to appear to advantage on his first appearance in society. It need not be added that Fosdick also was neatly dressed, but he was smaller and more delicate-looking than Dick, and not likely to attract so much attention.

As the boys were descending the stairs they met Miss Peyton.

"Really, Mr. Hunter," said that young lady, "you look quite dazzling this evening. How many hearts do you expect to break this evening?"

"I'm not in that line of business," said Dick. "I leave all that to you."

"You're too bad, really, Mr. Hunter," said Miss Peyton, highly pleased, nevertheless. "I never think of such a thing."

"I suppose I must believe you," said Dick, "but why is it that Mr. Clifton has looked so sad lately?"

"Mr. Clifton would not think of poor me," said Miss Peyton.

"If you only knew what he said about you the other day."

"Do tell me."

"I couldn't."

"If you will, I'll give you—"

"Thank you," interrupted Dick, gravely; "but I never accept kisses from ladies over six years old."

"How can you say so, Mr. Hunter?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Peyton, but I really couldn't."

"As if I ever thought of such a thing!" said Miss Peyton, in affected horror.

"I appeal to my friend Fosdick."

"Did I say so, Mr. Fosdick?"

Fosdick smiled.

"You mustn't appeal to me, Miss Peyton. You and Mr. Hunter are so brilliant that I don't pretend to understand you."

"Then you won't tell me what Mr. Clifton said. It is too bad. I shan't sleep to-night for thinking of it."

"Suppose you ask Mr. Clifton."

"I don't know but I will."

Miss Peyton went into the parlor, her heart fluttering with the thought that she had made a conquest of the gentleman referred to. As Mr. Clifton was a clerk on a small salary, continually in debt, and with no expectations, he could not be considered a very brilliant match; but Miss Peyton was not very particular, and she would have readily changed her name to Clifton if the chance should present itself. As we may not have occasion to refer to her again, it may be as well to state that Mr. Clifton's pecuniary affairs came to a crisis some months afterwards. He had always been in the habit of laughing at Miss Peyton; but in his strait he recollected that she was mistress of a few thousand dollars over which she had absolute control. Under these circumstances he decided to sacrifice himself. He accordingly offered his heart and hand, and was promptly accepted. Miss Peyton informed him that he was "the object of her heart's tenderest affection, her first and only love." Mr. Clifton expressed no doubt of this, though he was aware that Miss Peyton had been laying her snares for a husband for nearly ten years.

The marriage took place at the boarding-house, Dick and Fosdick being among the invited guests.

Mr. Clifton with his wife's money bought a partnership in a retail store on Eighth Avenue, where it is to be hoped he is doing a good business. Any one desirous of calling upon him at his place of business is referred to the New York City Directory for his number. Whether Mr. and Mrs. Clifton live happily I cannot pretend to say, not being included in the list of their friends; but I am informed by my friend Dick, who calls occasionally, that Mrs. Clifton is as fascinating now as before her marriage, and very naturally scorns the whole sisterhood of old maids, having narrowly escaped becoming one herself.



CHAPTER XXI.

IDA GREYSON'S PARTY.

When Dick and his friend reached Mr. Greyson's house, two carriages stood before the door, from each of which descended young guests, who, like themselves, had been invited to the party. One of these brought two young girls of twelve, the other two boys of twelve and fourteen, and their sister of ten. Entering with this party, the two boys felt less embarrassed than if they had been alone. The door was opened by a servant, who said, "Young ladies' dressing-room, second floor, left-hand room. Young gentlemen's dressing-room opposite."

Following directions, the boys went upstairs and entered a spacious chamber, where they deposited their outer garments, and had an opportunity to arrange their hair and brush their clothes.

"Is your sister here this evening?" asked one of the boys, addressing Dick.

"No," said Dick, soberly; "she couldn't come."

"I'm sorry for that. She promised to dance with me the first Lancers."

"Wouldn't I do as well?" asked Dick.

"I don't think you would," said the other, laughing. "But I'll tell you what,—you shall dance with my sister."

"I will, with pleasure," said Dick, "if you'll introduce me."

"Why, I thought you knew her," said the other, in surprise.

"Perhaps I did," said Dick; "but I exchanged myself off for another boy just before I came, and that makes a difference, you know. I shouldn't have known you, if you hadn't spoken to me."

"Do you know me now?" asked the other boy, beginning to understand that he had made a mistake.

"You live on Twenty-First Street,—don't you?"

"Yes," was the unexpected reply, for Dick had by a curious chance guessed right. "You're Henry Cameron, after all."

"No," said Dick; "my name is Richard Hunter."

"And mine is Theodore Selden; but I suppose you knew that, as you knew where I live. If you're ready, we'll go downstairs."

"Come, Fosdick," said Dick.

"We're going to have the Lancers first," said Theodore. "Ida told my sister so. Have you a partner engaged?"

"No."

"Then I'll introduce you to my sister. Come along."

I may explain here that Dick, and Fosdick also, had several times danced the Lancers in the parlor at the boarding-house in the evening, so that they felt reasonably confident of getting through respectably. Still his new friend's proposal made Dick feel a little nervous. He was not bashful with boys, but he had very little acquaintance with girls or young ladies, and expected to feel ill at ease with them. Still he could not think of a good reason for excusing himself from the promised introduction, and, after going up to Ida in company with his new friend, and congratulating her on her birthday (he would not have known how to act if Theodore had not set him an example), he walked across the room to where one of the young ladies who had entered at the time he did was seated.

"Alice," said Theodore, "this is my friend Mr. Hunter, who would like to dance with you in the first Lancers."

Dick bowed, and Alice, producing a card, said, "I shall be most happy. Will Mr. Hunter write his name on my card?"

Dick did so, and was thankful that he could now write a handsome hand.

"Now," said Theodore, unceremoniously, "I'll leave you two to amuse each other, while I go off in search of a partner."

"I'm in for it," thought Dick, seating himself on the sofa beside Alice. "I wish I knew what to say."

"Do you like the Lancers?" inquired the young lady.

"Yes, I like it," said Dick, "but I haven't danced it much. I'm afraid I shall make some mistakes."

"I've no doubt we shall get along well," said Alice. "Where did you learn?"

"I learned at home," said Dick.

"I thought I had not met you at Dodworth's. I attended dancing school there last winter."

"No," said Dick; "I never took lessons."

"Don't you like Ida Greyson?" inquired Alice.

"Yes, I like her very much," said Dick, sincerely.

"She's a sweet girl. She's a very intimate friend of mine. Who is that boy that came into the room with you?"

"His name is Henry Fosdick."

"He's going to dance with Ida. Come, let us hurry and get in the same set."

Dick offered his arm, and, as the sets were already being formed, led his partner to the upper end of the room, where they were just in time to get into the same set with Ida.

Theodore, with a girl about his own age, had already taken his position opposite Dick. Fosdick and Ida were the first couple, and opposite them Isaac and Isabella Selden, cousins of Theodore and Alice.

They had scarcely taken their places when the music struck up. Dick felt a little flustered, but determined to do his best. Being very quick in learning figures, and naturally gracefully in his movements, he got through very creditably, and without a mistake.

"I thought you expected to make mistakes," said Alice Selden, as Dick led her back to her seat. "I think you dance very well."

"It was because I had such a good partner," said Dick.

"Thank you for the compliment," said Alice, courtesying profoundly.

"Seems to me you're very polite, Alice," said Theodore, coming up.

"Mr. Hunter was paying me a compliment," said Alice.

"I wish you'd tell me how," said Theodore to Dick.

"I wish he would," interrupted Alice. "All your compliments are of the wrong kind."

"It isn't expected that brothers should compliment their sisters," said Theodore.

Mrs. Greyson came into the room during the dancing, and was pleased to see that Dick and Henry Fosdick, instead of sitting awkwardly in the corner, were taking their part in the evening's amusement. Dick made an engagement with Alice for another dance later in the evening, but danced the second with Ida Greyson, with whom, by this time, he felt very well acquainted.



"I didn't know you knew Alice Selden," said Ida. "Where did you meet her?"

"Her brother Theodore introduced me this evening. I did not know her before."

"You haven't been here lately, Dick," said Ida, familiarly.

"No," said he. "It's because I've been very busy."

"You don't work in the evening,—do you?"

"I study in the evening."

"What do you study, Dick?"

"French, for one thing."

"Can you speak French?"

"A little. Not much."

"I'm going to try you 'Comment vous portez-vous, monsieur?'"

"'Tres bien, mademoiselle. Et vous?'"

"That's right," said Ida, gravely. "I can't talk much yet myself. Who teaches you?"

"I have a private teacher."

"So have I. She comes twice a week. When I don't know my lesson, she boxes my ears. Is your teacher cross?"

"No," said Dick, laughing. "He doesn't box my ears."

"That's because you're so large. I wish I could have you for my teacher. I'd ask papa, if you could only speak it like a native."

"So I can," said Dick.

"You can, really?"

"Yes, like a native of New York."

Ida laughed, and was afraid that wouldn't do.

When the dance was over, and Dick was leading Ida to her seat, a surprise awaited him. A boy came forward hastily, and said in a tone blending amazement with gratification, "Is it possible that this is Dick Hunter?"

"Frank Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, clasping his hand cordially. "How came you here?"

"Just the question I was going to ask you, Dick. But I'll answer first. I am spending a few days with some cousins in Thirty-Seventh Street. They are friends of the Greysons, and were invited here this evening, and I with them. I little dreamed of meeting you here. I must say, Dick, you seem quite at home."

"Mr. Greyson has been a kind friend of mine," said Dick, "and I've met Ida quite often. But I felt a little nervous about coming to this party. I was afraid I'd be like a cat in a strange garret."

"You're a wonderful boy, Dick. You look as if you had been used to such scenes all your life. I can hardly believe you're the same boy I met in front of the Astor House a little more than a year ago."

"If I'm changed, it's because of what you said to me then, you and your father. But for those words I might still have been Ragged Dick."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Dick; but, for all that, a great deal of credit is due to yourself."

"I've worked hard," said Dick, "because I felt that I had something to work for. When are you going to enter college?"

"I expect to apply for admission in about two months."

"At Columbia College?"

"Yes."

"I am glad of that. I shall hope to see you sometimes."

"You will see me often, Dick."

Here the music struck up, and the boys parted. It is unnecessary to speak farther of the events of the evening. Dick made several other acquaintances, and felt much more at ease than he had anticipated. He returned home, feeling that his first party had been a very agreeable one, and that he had on the whole appeared to advantage.



CHAPTER XXII.

MICKY MAGUIRE RETURNS FROM THE ISLAND.

For three months Micky Maguire was not seen in his accustomed haunts. During his involuntary residence at the Island he often brooded over the treachery of Gilbert, to whom his present misfortune was due. He felt that he had been selfishly left to his fate by his equally guilty confederate. It had certainly been a losing speculation for poor Micky. He had received but a paltry dollar for his services, and in return he was deprived of his liberty for three months.

The disgrace of being sent to the Island Micky did not feel as Dick would have done. He had been there too many times to care for that. But he did not like the restraints of the place, and he did like the free and independent life of the streets from which for a time he was debarred.

The result of Micky's brooding was a strong thirst for vengeance upon the author of his misfortunes. He could do nothing at present, but only bide his time.

Meanwhile things went on pretty much as usual at the establishment in Pearl Street. Gilbert liked Dick no better than he had done. In fact, he disliked him more, but, seeing the friendly relations between Dick and his employer, found it prudent to treat him well whenever Mr. Rockwell was by. At other times he indulged in sneers and fault-finding, which Dick turned off good-humoredly, or returned some droll answer, which blunted the edge of the sarcasm, and made the book-keeper chafe with the feeling that he was no match for the boy he hated. Dick, by faithful attention to his duties, and a ready comprehension of what was required of him, steadily advanced in the good opinion of every one except Gilbert.

"Keep on as you have begun, Richard," said Mr. Murdock to him, "and you'll be a member of the firm some time."

"Do you really think so, Mr. Murdock?" asked Dick, with a flush of gratification.

"I really do. You have excellent abilities, Mr. Rockwell likes you, and you have only to continue steady and faithful, and you'll be sure to rise."

"You know what I was, Mr. Murdock."

"You are none the worse for that, Richard. It is a great credit to a boy to earn his own living when circumstances force it upon him. If his employment is an honest one, it is an honorable one."

By such remarks as these Dick was encouraged, and he felt that Mr. Murdock was a true friend to him. Meanwhile a way was opening for his advancement.

One day Micky Maguire appeared in his old haunts. The second day he met Gilbert in the street; but the book-keeper took not the slightest notice of him. That touched Micky's pride, and confirmed him in his resolution. He decided to make known to Mr. Rockwell Gilbert's share in the little plot, thinking that this would probably be the best method of injuring him.

He ascertained, by means of a directory, with some difficulty, for Micky's education was rather slight, the residence of Mr. Rockwell, and about eight o'clock in the evening ascended the steps and rang the bell. He might have gone to his place of business, but Gilbert would be there, and he preferred to see Mr. Rockwell at home.

The servant stared at the odd and not particularly prepossessing figure before her.

"Is Mr. Rockwell at home?" asked Micky.

"Yes."

"I want to see him."

"Did he tell you to call?"

"It's on particular business," said Micky.

"Stop here and I'll tell him," said the girl.

"There's a boy at the door wants to see you, Mr. Rockwell," said the girl.

"Did you ask him in?"

"No sir. He looks like a suspicious carakter," said Bridget, laying the stress on the second syllable.

Mr. Rockwell rose, and went to the door.

"What is your business?" he asked.

"It's about Dick,—Ragged Dick we used to call him," said Micky.

"You mean Richard Hunter."

"Yes," said Micky. "He was took up for stealin' a gentleman's pocket-book three months ago."

"But he was proved innocent," said Mr. Rockwell, "so, if you have anything to say against him, your time is thrown away."

"I know he was innocent," said Micky; "another boy took it."

"Who was he?"

"I did it."

"Then you did a wicked thing in stealing the money, and a mean thing in trying to get an innocent boy into trouble."

"I wouldn't have done it," said Micky, "if I hadn't been paid for it."

"Paid for stealing!" said Mr. Rockwell, astonished.

"Paid for tryin' to get Dick into trouble."

"That does not seem to be a very likely story," said Mr. Rockwell. "Who would pay you money for doing such a thing?"

"Mr. Gilbert."

"My book-keeper?"

"Yes," said Micky, vindictively.

"I can hardly believe this," said Mr. Rockwell.

"He paid me only a dollar for what I did," said Micky, in an injured tone. "He'd ought to have given me five dollars. He's a reg'lar mean feller."

"And is this why you betray him now?"

"No," said Micky; "it isn't the money, though it's mean to expect a feller to run the risk of bein' nabbed for a dollar; but when the 'copp' had got hold of me I met him, and he said I was a young scamp, and he didn't know anything about me."

"Is this true?" asked Mr. Rockwell, looking keenly at Micky.

Micky confirmed his statement by an oath.

"I don't want you to swear. I shall not believe you the sooner for that. Can you explain why Mr. Gilbert should engage in such a base conspiracy?"

"He told me that he hated Dick," said Micky.

"Do you like him?"

"No, I don't," said Micky, honestly; "but I hate Mr. Gilbert worse."

"Why do you hate Richard?"

"Because he puts on airs."

"I suppose," said Mr. Rockwell, smiling, "that means that he wears good clothes, and keeps his face and hands clean."

"He wasn't nothin' but a boot-black," said Micky, in an injured tone.

"What are you?"

"I'm a boot-black too; but I don't put on airs."

"Do you mean to be a boot-black all your life?"

"I dunna," said Micky; "there aint anything else to do."

"Tell me truly, wouldn't you rather wear good clothes than poor ones, and keep yourself clean and neat?"

"Yes, I should," said Micky, after a slight hesitation.

"Then why do you blame Dick for preferring to do the same?"

"He licked me once," said Micky, rather reluctantly, shifting his ground.

"What for?"

"I fired a stone at him."

"You can't blame him much for that, can you?"

"No," said Micky, slowly, "I dunno as I can."

"For my own part I have a very good opinion of Richard," said Mr. Rockwell. "He wants to raise himself in the world, and I am glad to help him. If that is putting on airs, I should be glad to see you doing the same."

"There aint no chance for me," said Micky.

"Why not?"

"I aint lucky as Dick is."

"Dick may have been lucky," said Mr. Rockwell, "but I generally find that luck comes oftenest to those who deserve it. If you will try to raise yourself I will help you."

"Will you?" asked Micky, in surprise.

The fact was, he had been an Ishmaelite from his earliest years, and while he had been surrounded by fellows like Limpy Jim, who were ready to encourage and abet him in schemes of mischief, he had never had any friends who deserved the name. That a gentleman like Mr. Rockwell should voluntarily offer to assist him was indeed surprising.

"How old are you?" asked Mr. Rockwell.

"Seventeen," said Micky.

"How long have you blacked boots?"

"Ever since I was eight or nine."

"I think it is time for you to do something else."

"What will I do?"

"We must think of that. I must also think of the information you have given me in regard to Mr. Gilbert. You are certain you are telling the truth."

"Yes," said Micky; "it's the truth."

Micky did not swear this time, and Mr. Rockwell believed him.

"Let me see," he said, reflecting; "can you be at my store to-morrow morning at ten o'clock?"

"I can," said Micky, promptly.

"What is your name?"

"Micky Maguire."

"Good-night, Michael."

"Good-night, sir," said Micky, respectfully.

He walked away with a crowd of new thoughts and new aspirations kindling in his breast. A gentleman had actually offered to help him on in the world. Nobody had ever taken any interest in him before. Life to him had been a struggle and a conflict, with very little hope of better things. He had supposed he should leave off blacking boots some time, but no prospect seemed open before him.

"Why shouldn't I get up in the world?" he thought, with new ambition.

He half confessed to himself that he had led a bad life, and vague thoughts of amendment came to him. Somebody was going to take an interest in him. That was the secret of his better thoughts and purposes.

On the whole, I begin to think there is hope for Micky.



CHAPTER XXIII.

FAME AND FORTUNE.

Mr. Gilbert chanced to be looking out of the window of Mr. Rockwell's counting-room, when he was unpleasantly surprised by the sudden apparition of Micky Maguire. He was destined to be still more unpleasantly surprised. Micky walked up to the main entrance, and entered with an assured air. Gilbert hastened to meet him, and prevent his entrance.

"Clear out of here, you young rascal!" he said, in a tone of authority. "You're not wanted here."

"I've come on business," said Micky, with a scowl of dislike, showing no intention of retreating.

"I have no business with you," said Gilbert.

"Perhaps you haven't," said Micky, "but Mr. Rockwell has."

"Mr. Rockwell will have nothing to say to a vagabond like you."

"He told me to come," said Micky, resolutely, "and I shan't go till I've seen him."

Gilbert did not believe this, but suspected that Micky intended to betray him, and to this of course he had a decided objection.

"Go out!" he said, imperiously, "or I'll make you."

"I won't then," said Micky, defiantly.

"We'll see about that."

Gilbert seized him by the shoulders; but Micky was accustomed to fighting, and made a vigorous resistance. In the midst of the fracas Mr. Rockwell came up.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, in a quiet but authoritative tone.

"This young rascal has attempted to force his way in," said the book-keeper, desisting, and with a flushed face.

"I asked to see you," said Micky, "and he said I shouldn't."

"I told him to come," said Mr. Rockwell. "You may come into the counting-room, Michael. Mr. Gilbert, I should like your presence also."

In surprise, not unmingled with foreboding, Mr. Gilbert followed his employer and Micky Maguire into the counting-room.

"Mr. Gilbert," commenced Mr. Rockwell, "are you acquainted with this boy?"

"He blacked my boots on one occasion," said the book-keeper; "I know no more of him except that he is a young vagabond and a thief."

"Who hired me to steal?" retorted Micky.

"I don't think you would need any hiring," said Gilbert, with a sneer.

Micky was about to retort in no choice terms, but Mr. Rockwell signed to him to be silent.

"This boy has made a charge against you, Mr. Gilbert," he said, "which you ought to be made aware of."

"He is capable of any falsehood," said the book-keeper; but he began to be nervous.

"I thought your acquaintance with him was very slight."

"So it is; but it is easy to judge from his looks what he is."

"That is not always a safe guide. But to the charge. He asserts that you hired him to fix the charge of theft upon Richard, on account of your dislike to him."

"So he did, and all he give me was a dollar," said Micky, aggrieved. "That was mean."

"Do you believe this story?" asked Gilbert, turning to Mr. Rockwell.

"I know that you dislike Richard, Mr. Gilbert."

"So I do. He's artful and bad; but you'll find him out some day."

"I don't think you do him justice. Artful is the very last word I should apply to him."

"You may be deceived."

"If I am, I shall never put confidence in any boy again. But you haven't answered the charge, Mr. Gilbert."

"It isn't worth answering," said the book-keeper, scornfully.

"Still, I would be glad to have you give an answer one way or the other," persisted Mr. Rockwell.

"Then it's a lie, of course."

"It's true," said Micky.

"I hope you consider my word as of more value than this vagabond's," said Gilbert, contemptuously.

"Why were you so anxious to prevent his entering, Mr. Gilbert?"

"I didn't see what business he could possibly have here."

"Michael, will you give an account of all that has taken place between Mr. Gilbert and yourself? I do not yet feel satisfied."

"Mr. Rockwell," said Gilbert, in a passion, "I do not choose to submit to the insulting investigation you propose. My month is out next Thursday; I beg leave to resign my situation."

"Your resignation is accepted," said Mr. Rockwell, quietly.

"If it is convenient to you, I should like to leave at once," said the book-keeper, livid with passion.

"As you please," said his employer. "Your salary shall be paid up to the end of the month."

To this Gilbert offered no opposition. The balance of his salary was paid him, and he left the warehouse in a very unpleasant frame of mind, much to the gratification of Micky Maguire, who felt that his vengeance was complete.

"Now, Michael," said Mr. Rockwell, "I must see what I can do for you. Do you wish to give up your present business?"

"Yes," said Micky, "I don't like it."

"I can give you a situation as errand-boy in my own employ," said Mr. Rockwell. "My head clerk will explain your duties."

"What wages will I get?" asked Micky, anxiously.

"For the present you shall have a dollar a day, or six dollars a week. I will besides give you a new suit of clothes. Will that suit you?"

"Yes," said Micky, feeling as if he had unexpectedly become heir to a fortune. "When will I begin?"

"To-morrow if you like. Come here this afternoon at three, and I will send Richard with you to a clothing-house."

Just then Dick, who had been to the post-office, entered, and Mr. Rockwell in a few words informed him of the changes that had taken place.

"I believe you and Michael haven't been very good friends," he added; "but I trust you will get over that."

Dick promptly offered his hand to his old enemy.

"I am glad you are coming here, Micky," he said "I'll do all I can to help you on, and if we are not good friends it won't be my fault."

"Do you mean that, Dick?" said Micky, almost incredulous.

"Yes, I do."

"I've acted mean by you more'n once."

"If you have, it's all over now," said Dick. "There's no use in remembering it."

"You're a good fellow, Dick," said Micky, "an' I ought to have known it before."

Dick was gratified by this testimony from one who for years had been his active opponent, and he determined to help Micky to turn over the new leaf which was to bear a very different record from the old one.

When Micky had gone out, Mr. Rockwell said, "Well, Richard, I have lost my book-keeper."

"Yes, sir," said Dick.

"And I can't say I am sorry. I will do Mr. Gilbert the justice to say that he understood his business; but he was personally disagreeable, and I never liked him. Now I suppose I must look out for a successor."

"Yes, sir, I suppose so."

"I know a very competent book-keeper, who is intending to go into business for himself at the expiration of six months. Until that time I can secure his services. Now, I have a plan in view which I think you will approve. You shall at once commence the study of book-keeping in a commercial school in the evening, and during the day I will direct Mr. Haley to employ you as his assistant. I think in that way you will be able to succeed him at the end of his term."

Dick was completely taken by surprise. The thought that he, so recently plying the trade of a boot-black in the public streets, could rise in six months to the responsible post of a book-keeper in a large wholesale house, seemed almost incredible.

"I should like nothing better," he said, his eyes sparkling with delight, "if you really think I could discharge the duties satisfactorily."

"I think you could. I believe you have the ability, and of your fidelity I feel assured."

"Thank you, sir; you are very kind to me," said Dick, gratefully.

"I have reason to be," said Mr. Rockwell, taking his hand. "Under God it is to your courage that I owe the life of my dear boy. I shall never forget it. One thing more. I intend Michael to undertake most of your present duties, such as going to the post-office, etc. Do you think he will answer?"

"I think so," said Dick. "He has been a rough customer, but then he has never had a chance. I believe in giving everybody a chance."

"So do I," said Mr. Rockwell. "Michael shall have his chance. Let us hope he will improve it."

There are many boys, and men too, who, like Micky Maguire, have never had a fair chance in life. Let us remember that, when we judge them, and not be too hasty to condemn. Let us consider also whether it is not in our power to give some one the chance that may redeem him.

That afternoon Micky Maguire was provided with a new suit of clothes, of which he felt very proud. The next morning, on his way to the post-office, he fell in with his old confederate, Limpy Jim, who regarded him with a glance of the most bewildering surprise.

"It aint you, Micky,—is it?" he asked, cautiously, surveying his old comrade's neat appearance. "When did you come back from the Island?"

"Shut up about the Island, Jim," said Micky. "Do I look as if I had been there?"

"You look nobby," said Jim. "Where's your brush?"

"I've give up the blackin' business," said Micky.

"You have? What are you going to do? Sell papers?"

"No," said Micky, consequentially. "I'm in business on Pearl Street."

"Why," said Limpy Jim, surprised, "that's where that upstart Ragged Dick works."

"He aint an upstart, an' he aint ragged," said Micky. "He's a friend of mine, an' if you insult him, I'll lam' ye."

"O my eyes!" ejaculated Jim, opening the organs of vision to a very wide extent; "that's the biggest joke I ever heerd of."

"You'll hear of a bigger one pretty quick," said Micky, rolling up his sleeves, and squaring off scientifically.

Limpy Jim, who had a respect for Micky's prowess, incontinently fled, surveying Micky from a safe distance, with a look in which surprise seemed to mingle with incredulity.

It may seem strange, but, from that time forth, Dick had no firmer friend than Micky Maguire, who, I am glad to say, though occasionally wayward, improved vastly, and became a useful employe of the establishment which he had entered. Of course both in ability and education, though in the last he gained considerably, he was quite inferior to Dick; but he was advanced as he grew older to the position of porter, where his strength stood him in good stead. His pay increased also, and through Dick's influence he was saved from vicious habits, and converted from a vagabond to a useful member of society.

And now, almost with regret, I find myself closing up the record of Dick's chequered career. The past with its trials is over; the future expands before him, a bright vista of merited success. But it remains for me to justify the title of my story, and show how Dick acquired "Fame and Fortune." I can only hint briefly at the steps that led to them.

In six months, at the age of seventeen, Dick succeeded to Mr. Gilbert's place with a salary, to commence with, of one thousand dollars. To this an annual increase was made, making his income at twenty-one, fourteen hundred dollars. Just about that time he had an opportunity to sell his up-town lots, to a gentleman who had taken a great fancy to them, for five times the amount he paid, or five thousand dollars. His savings from his salary amounted to about two thousand dollars more.

Meanwhile Mr. Rockwell's partner, Mr. Cooper, from ill health felt obliged to withdraw from business, and Richard, to his unbounded astonishment and gratification, was admitted to the post of junior partner, embarking the capital he had already accumulated, and receiving a corresponding share of the profits. These were so large that Richard was able to increase his interest yearly by investing his additional savings, and three years later he felt justified in offering his hand to Ida Greyson, whose partiality to Dick had never wavered. He was no longer Ragged Dick now, but Mr. Richard Hunter, junior partner in the large firm of Rockwell & Hunter. Mr. Greyson felt that even in a worldly way Dick was a good match for his daughter; but he knew and valued still more his good heart and conscientious fidelity to duty, and excellent principles, and cheerfully gave his consent. Last week I read Dick's marriage in the papers, and rejoiced in his new hopes of happiness.

So Dick has achieved FAME and FORTUNE,—the fame of an honorable and enterprising man of business, and a fortune which promises to be very large. But I am glad to say that Dick has not been spoiled by prosperity. He never forgets his humble beginnings, and tries to show his sense of God's goodness by extending a helping hand to the poor and needy boys, whose trials and privations he understands well from his own past experience. I propose in my next story to give an account of one of these boys, and shall take the opportunity to give further information in regard to some of the characters introduced in this volume. This story, the third in the Ragged Dick series; will be entitled

MARK, THE MATCH BOY; OR, RICHARD HUNTER'S WARD.



* * * * *

HORATIO ALGER'S Successful Juvenile Books.

* * * * *

Ragged Dick Books.

I. RAGGED DICK; or, Street Life in New York. II. FAME AND FORTUNE; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY. IV. ROUGH AND READY; or, Life Among New York Newsboys. V. BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY; or, Among the Wharves. VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready.

* * * * *

Tattered Tom Books.

A Continuation of the Ragged Dick Series.

FIRST SERIES, in Four Volumes

I. TATTERED TOM; or, The Story of a Street Arab. II. PAUL, THE PEDDLER; or, The Adventures of a Young Street Merchant. III. PHIL, THE FIDDLER; or, The Young Street Musician. IV. SLOW AND SURE; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop.

SECOND SERIES.

I. JULIUS; or, The Street Boy out West.

* * * * *

Luck and Pluck Books.

FIRST SERIES, in Four Volumes

I. LUCK AND PLUCK; or, John Oakley's Inheritance. II. SINK OR SWIM; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve. III. STRONG AND STEADY; or, Paddle your own Canoe. IV. STRIVE AND SUCCEED; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad.

SECOND SERIES.

I. TRY AND TRUST; or, The Story of a Bound Boy. II. BOUND TO RISE; or, How Harry Walton rose in the World. III. RISEN FROM THE RANKS; or, Harry Walton's Success.

* * * * *

Bold and Brave Books.

To be completed in Four Volumes.

I. BOLD AND BRAVE; or, The Fortunes of a Factory Boy.

* * * * *

Campaign Books.

I. FRANK'S CAMPAIGN. II. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE. III. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.

THE END